Page 13 of Brooklyn Bratva

“You better believe it.” I turned the metal chair opposite the bare table around, and straddled it, folding my arms on top of the back, making sure he could see the bulge of my muscles. “Jerome, right?”

He gave an unwilling nod and the panicked look in his eyes betrayed how young he was.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me who’s paying you for the cell phones, and then you’re going to tell me were you meet him.”

“I’m not telling you pigs anything. You’re batshit crazy. You know that?”

“Let me make this very clear to you Jerome. Do you see a camera? This isn’t an official interview. I’m not here as a police officer right now.”

“I guess not.” His eyes shifted nervously towards the door, and then to the reflective mirror glass of the observation gallery. “What are you here as?”

I unholstered my gun and set it down on the table. The man’s eyes locked onto it.

“You don’t need to know that. This is an unofficial chat. You want to keep it unofficial, right? You look cooperative to me.”

“Shit, man. I don’t have to tell you anything. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You’re acting all tough, but you can’t do anything to me in here. That’s police brutality.”

“Can’t I’? Let’s see. You said you had some information for me. That it could only be off the record. We came in here. You made a grab for my gun. In the struggle, you ended up getting shot. Not fatal, and I guess you won’t miss your kneecap so much, but I hear it’s right up there on the pain scale. I might get a slap on the wrist for not following procedure. But you’ll get a permanent limp if my aim’s good. Might lose the leg if your shin bone shatters. It’s all in the angle.”

His eyes widened even more. “No. No way. You’re yanking my chain.”

“Oh, Jerome. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t do this. You’ve got until I get to five. I want a name.”

“One.”

“Fuck you, man. I’m no snitch.”

“Two”

“Three.”

I picked up the gun off the table and stepped around it, grabbing the man by the back of the collar and hauling him to his feet. The legs of his chair screeched across the floor and he hunched in on himself, his whole body tensing. That bravado he’d been trying for disappeared in an instant.

“Four.”

“Okay-okay!”

“Four and a half. I’m listening.”

“I don’t know who he is. Some Russian guy!”

“Four and three quarters. Try again. He’s not Russian.”

“I dunno. He sounds Russian to me! Big guy, dark hair.”

“Him and half the city. I’m done talking. Five.”

“Wait! The drop site’s out by Coney Island. Under the boardwalk. There’s some steps, right by the aquarium. We leave the phones in a paper bag, go around the block and when we come back there’s the cash.”

“That’s more like it. How do you get in touch with him?”

“I dunno. He just turned up with this plan. Said if we did what he said, it’d be worth our while.”

“I don’t want your sob story. How do you get in touch to tell him to do a pick up?”

“He gave me a burner.”

“Where is it?”

“My bedside drawer.”

His eyes bulged and he was still watching me like I might still decide to shoot him anyway. The guy wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

“Where’s the key to your place?”

“You guys have it. Took it off me. Personal effects, evidence. I don’t know!”

“Fine.”

I re-holstered my Glock. “You did good Jerome. I can see you’re a pawn here and you didn’t realize that you were getting mixed up with things that don’t belong in Brighton Beach.

“The Russians own this town, and no one goes around stealing phones, hurting the women in my neighborhood for fucking pocket money. Listen to me. You need to untangle yourself from the thugs you’re involved with if you want a real future, otherwise your prospects are looking pretty short lived, Jerome. You want job security when you get out, you come to me. If you don’t, you need to wise up, fast, because we won’t be having this conversation again, next time I catch you.”

CHAPTER 6

Ivan

This time of night Tatiana’s was just starting up the evening trade. The lights were on inside the awning that extended out from the main building onto the boardwalk itself, and I could hear the music playing already.

The place had been on the boardwalk as long as anyone I knew could remember, and the crowd who frequented it knew exactly what to expect – as much food as they wanted along with as much to drink as they could stomach before the dance floor filled up. Tonight there was no scheduled performance of Russian dancing, and the crowd was more serious and older than it tended towards the weekend when the tourists streamed in for a flavor of Little Odessa.

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